"International Players Anthem (I Choose You)"...( Andre 3000)

Get into it

  ‘Fuck you forever,’ I thought looking at the lush moon that seemed touchable from the island, I was positive that this would represent the last time I allowed Chimeze to have the pleasure of my company, but I didn't lose-I won a ride home and that beat riding the 'iron horse" . I took a few moments to look at it, when I felt a rush of air and footsteps coming to a stop behind me.  I refused to look at the moon all romantically with a man who had tried to "play me," for lack of a better phrase.

    

   Now, it felt as if this fuckery was stuck inside my head, possibly forever, since the Lupus wasn’t going anywhere.  I really began to regret my pension for given  second, third and sometimes forth chances, I really had to work on changing that part of me, especially since I forgive way more often than I am forgiven when I make a mistake. I turned to head toward the car and hopefully home.  Hustling to stand midway between the car, and the area I had just left, where the moon seemed close enough to touch.  Chimeze stepped up close and placed his hand on my elbow - to stop me from moving.  “Listen, I'm sorry.  I can see I hurt your feelings.  Wether you admit it or not, that wasn’t my intention.  I just don’t always say things the way I mean them.  I'm working on that.”  I looked at him like, move.  But he didn’t.  “Look, I want us to go out…more.  You are so cool and I really enjoy our conversations, all I'm asking is that you get to know me.”

   I gave in, and walked beside him slowly to the car, where he opened my door.  From there, wherever I was, so was he.  Over time, I became as excited to see him, as he was to see me - but I would never let him know that.  I would let him know, when he showed me that I could be sure about him, and that showing was still going from the spring of 2012 to that moment in his car in February of 2014:

   My phone was on 4% and needed to charge a bit.  “My phone is dying, can I use yours to see something online,” I asked.  He quickly handed me his phone, but it was still in picture mode; pressing the back button, with the intent to get to the browser, brought me to a picture of a plate at some fancy restaurant - similar to the one we had just left - resting in front of a pair of ginormous tits.  I glanced over at Chimeze, who was intent on getting the car in its proper gear - it had been giving him a little trouble lately.  I decided to investigate a little more. 

    "Just how many woman do you go to dinner with, Mr. Chindu," I thought to myself.  I needed to find out because here I am getting gushy with him, and I had even let him kiss me a few times.  "Let me find out his lips are used," I thought to myself.  Yes, this was the best thing, I swept to the right and started to scroll through the pictures.  There were many pictures of this woman's tits in front of fancy food.  I wanted to throw the phone at his ass.  I really did, but I didn’t really have the right to - not yet.  Shaking in anger, I closed the pictures, and placed the phone in the cup holder - like I would usually do.

   Looking off, I asked, “Chimeze?”

“Whatsup, dear,” he asked, pulling to a stop at a red light.  “Are you ok?  Do you need a ladies room?  What’s up?”

“Ok, well, I have a question for you and I want nothing more than for you to keep it ‘a buck’ with me - in this moment.  Can you do that," I asked, still staring out the window.

“Sure, ask me whatever, dear.  Anything you want to ask, ask...” he replied, again focused on the road, but turning down the radio so he could hear me better.

"Whose tits are those in your phone? "you know, the ones in front of the steak tartare," I thought of asking, which was what I wanted to ask, but instead, I decided on a more subtle approach:

    "What are we, Chimeze?”  He looked at me perplexed for a moment, and before he could answer, I added, "Like, are we in a relationship?”

Turning left and carefully checking the turning lane, he replied, “Yeah, we're in a relationship…”

“Ok, well do you go out to dinner with a lot of women…you know, the way we go out to fancy restaurants; with you paying the bill, opening doors and whatnot,” I asked, again subtly with an even tone.

“Well, you know…I have friends.  We go out to dinner.  Like you and I go out to dinner.  Hold on a second,” he said, making a U-turn.

Ignoring him, because I couldn’t take it a second longer, I continued, less subtly, “So, is that what you consider us...friends?”

   When he turned from the steering wheel, with a blank look upon his face, I wanted to stab him with a knife I didn’t have.  I saw the familiar 'I am playing with you signs,' dancing all in his eyes.

“So, you kiss all your friends, the way you kiss me?  How about that bitch in your phone,” I asked offhandedly, grabbing the phone out of the cupholder and pressing on the camera icon.  "Is that your friend,” I inquired.  Holding the phone up to his face so he could have a bird’s eye view of what I was talking about.  “Who is she,” I inquired again, a little more forcefully than I intended.  I decided to just ‘be annoyed,’ as I would never give him the benefit of seeing me sad; he clearly wasn’t to be trusted.

   “Shes…” he started. “Yes, ‘she’...boob girl,” I interjected, cutting this woman, someone I didn’t even know, into pieces.  “My girlfriend,” he finished.

“Oh,” I asked, rhetorically.  “Your girlfriend,” I stated, realizing that he had now parked the car.  “Well, how does your girlfriend feel about you taking me out to dinner, paying, opening doors and making attempts to kiss on me?  She's cool with that?”

“Well, she knows I go out.  She knows I have friends...”

"No," I said, cutting him off.  "You don’t kiss your friends…no boyfriend of mine could ever be out with his friends kissing,” I stated, looking at him accusingly. 

   "Well, now that we have that straightened out, I'm going to need you to take this friend" I stated, pointing at myself , " home." I demanded, more than asked - settling into the  leather passenger side of his whip.  Shooting him a look that let him know that I was so disappointed that he was no better than I originally thought he was. Watching the trees in the park fly by,  my heart dropped and I felt tears welling up.  I thought of horror films, in an attempt to beat them back, at least until I got home and could break down privately.  This had become about more than retribution, free meals and showing him how much I looked "better than my pictures."  I had actually fallen for him, and now he had disappointed me in the most typical way a man could ever disappoint a woman-by not being honest. 

  Here I was, feeling special; like we really meant something - something more than I had ever experienced, and I was just one in his harem.  I never would have expected this, particularly of him, and it hurt so much more because it was unexpected.  I would date other people from time to time, but this…man…had a whole girlfriend.  One that he kept secret from me, as I was sure he kept the nature of our relationship secret from her.  The more I thought about it, the more irritated I became.  "How long," I blurted out.  When I only got a bewildered look in response, I decided to clarify, “How long have you been dating this woman - your girlfriend,” I asked softly, hoping for an answer that wouldn’t destroy me. 

   “Well, I met her around the time, I met you,” he meekliy replied.  “The first time or the second time,” I spat.  "The first," he replied, griping the steering wheel, looking at me pleadingly.  “Oh,” I exhaled, "So, that’s why you were rude to me on our first date?  Tell ME about your girlfriend. Does she work?  What does she do?  Is she pretty?  How much does she weigh?  Weave or natural?"  When he was done telling me about his under 5 feet, decidedly unambitious, nursing assistant girlfriend, who he could only describe as ‘aight,’ when I asked if she was pretty, I was annoyed, 'like really?', I thought.  “Enough,” I said firmly at first and then again more softly, and turned my entire body toward the window, so I wouldn’t have to receive any of his energy. 

    My pride wanted to make him stop the car, and just walk the rest of the way. Instead, I stayed in my seat, and patiently waited for this 'shit fest" of a ride to end. "Ryndra, I am going to talk to her tomorrow.  I’m going to end it.  I just never got a chance because, like I said, we really don’t see each other like that.  Ryn, just..let me fix this.”, he said. I continued to stare out the window, ignoring him. 

   When I got home I was determined to block this man on everything; my phone, my IG, my FB, email, my blog…and try my darnedest to refresh my emotions back to where they were after I first met him. He WAS the Skell, I initially judged him to be, so why continue to play his game?

 

   As we reached my block, instead of pulling into my building's private parking lot, Chimeze hit another U-turn and did the Batman thing, that he loves to do, and before I knew it we were on Riverside Drive, double-parking.  He turned toward me and said, “Let me fix this.  I didn’t know it was an issue and I can tell this might be the last time I see you; I don't want that.  I know there are plenty of guys who like hanging out with you, and you don’t really need me but--”

   “You are so right about that.  I don’t need you,” I said, interrupting him haughtily.  On the inside, I was full of all the tears I had been holding since I found out about this fat, big-titted girlfriend character.  I imagined him going to her house and playing with her titties recreationally, after dropping me off from dinner.  They probably had a lot of sex too, I thought - seething. “You sleep with her,” I asked, though it was truly none of my business what he did with his girlfriend.

“Yes…but not often.  I took her to a motel…twice.  We only did it twice,” he said, before he added, a little too quickly, “and it wasn’t very good - I didn’t like it at all.”

After a long pause, he stated.

“I'm going to handle this tomorrow, Ryn. I promise.”

   “Ok, but that doesn’t mean I am going to be your girlfriend,” I replied, to make sure we were clear -even though the entire problem was that I already felt like we were more than boyfriend and girlfriend.  We were so connected, in so many of the ways that mattered - it seemed.  I couldn’t imagine that he had this kind of connection with anyone else.  “We shall see,” I said.  "It’s as good as done, dear," he said, rubbing the small of my back, before shifting gears to take me home.  

   Stepping out of the car, I thought if I should let him know that I had lied earlier, about not needing him.  I have my own issues, and every bad situation doesn’t always showcase me in an honorable light.  I needed him, his touch, his time and all of his attention.  My claim that I didn’t need him was merely a prideful ruse that was more about convincing myself that I could ‘carry on,’ should he ever abandon me; I loved him deeply, more deeply than he knew, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that he had abandoned me before, and would probably do so again -probably for a lessor but easier woman, like before.  I decided then, that this and everything that happened before was forgivable - but only, if Chimeze somehow showed me that I was different than the rest; and worth fighting for, in a way he hadn’t ever thought about doing for another woman. 'Homeboy has a hard row to hoe', I thought -nodding at the doorman-entering my building. Pressing the 4th floor, I thought about how

every relationship, I had ever seen or read about,  has it’s trials and tribulations, and considering the fact I was about to be evicted from my apartment, I figured our trial was due sooner than later, hopefully not until after he resigned himself to the fact that I was definitely more than his friend.

***

So , there I was, the tables had turned - and  I was in the position of asking for forgiveness. It was predictable that Chimeze would make me fight three times as hard for forgiveness, if he was willing to forgive at all. Strangely enough , men, it seems, often feel entitled to forgiveness after they lie, cheat, steal, beat, rape, and do all types of gymnastics on a woman body and feelings, but it's typical of them to deny women the same courtesy-'even for equal transgressions', I thought as the buzzer rang again long and hard. Having enough, and now significantly concerned about my leasing agreement, I relented and hit some buttons of my own...

MOOD